Learning To Burn
by emilynoel11
Summary: They dreamed of sunshine and freedom and a peace that lasted forever. [Or, a slightly AU story where all the Barricade Boys are a little bit broken but manage to put each other back together.]
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, none of these characters belong to me.

So I've had this sitting on my computer for a while, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to post it. I have an idea and an outline made for this story, but I just can't make any guarantees that I will ever fully write it. Nonetheless, I decided to post it, so please leave me a review and tell me what you think! :)

* * *

Learning To Burn

Prologue

The day had been a beautiful one, filled with sunshine and without a cloud in sight. Now the sun is low in the sky and shadows are beginning to descend. Two young boys run quickly through the tall, yellow-green grass of a meadow. They appear to be of a similar age, old enough to venture outside unsupervised although they have yet to reach adolescence. Both have slim statures and sharp features, although in every other aspect they are complete opposites. The taller of the two leads by a few paces, given an advantage due to a head start and longer legs. His wild black hair twists like a halo around his head as he runs. He chances a glance back at the other boy, green eyes twinkling mischeviously as he calls out, "You're too slow! You'll never catch me!"

The other boy does not reply, panting slightly as he tries, in vain, to reach the first boy. His shorter legs do not allow him to catch up. At a closer glance, it becomes obvious that he is younger; his cheeks have yet to lose their baby fat, remaining round and slightly chubby. His hair grows differently, hanging longer around his face in perfect golden curls. The boy's sparkling, ocean blue eyes flash with determination as he tries to pick up speed, refusing to admit defeat.

They continue like this for a few moments, jumping over fallen logs and running around and around as they continue their game of cat and mouse. A large house slowly comes into view. It is made of dark red stone, with a wide, wooden front porch. A black carriage sits on the dirt road leading up to the house with two huge, white horses standing patiently in front of it.

A beautiful young woman descends daintly out of the carriage. She is wearing a deep blue dress, flapping slightly in the wind and golden jewelry glinting in the sun. The older boy lets out a cry and changes direction suddenly, beginning to run towards the woman, the younger hot on his heels. A breathtaking smile breaks out across her frace, framed by her long, blonde hair, and she turns to await their approach. As they reach her, she leans down to pick up the smaller boy, playfully swinging him around. He laughs happily, throwing his arms out as the other boy stands close by, chuckling merrily with them.

A tall, black-haired man steps down out of the carriage to join the trio, the corners of his mouth turned up in a slight smile. He swoops the older boy up into his own arms and steps forward to press a small kiss to the forehead of the other child. By this time, the sun has almost completely disappeared beyond the horizon. "Let's head inside and get these two tucked into bed," The man announces, and they walk together into the house.

Later that night, the two exhausted boys fall quickly into sleep, dreaming of sunshine and smiles and a peace that lasts forever.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Bonus points to whomever can guess who the two boys in the prologue were.

* * *

Chapter 1

Raised voices from across the Cafe Musain were what drew Combeferre's attention.

He was first dragged into the Cafe a few months ago by his close friend Courfeyrac, and ever since, he had spent more time there than any other place in Paris. During the day, he would regularly come by for a quiet place to study and a quick cup of coffee, and on nights like these he would stop by for a drink with his friends. Every so often, fights would break out between the other occupants, but most of the time it was a quiet, peaceful place, so arguments tended to turn a few heads.

Glancing away from his friends, he turned to see what the fuss was all about, and was surprised to see a familiar golden-haired man involved in a heated debate with two other men. The blond was bent slightly over the table, talking and gesturing furiously, while one of the other men was rising out of his chair, his face red with anger. It was too noisy in the room for Combeferre to make out their words from his place across the room, but it was obvious that the two men disagreed with whatever the third was saying. It was that fact that surprised him the most, as it wasn't the first time he had seen the fair-haired man there.

He had first seen the man a few weeks ago. Combeferre had been sitting at the back of the Musain, nursing a quickly-cooling cup of coffee and trying desperately to finish a paper for one of his classes that was due the next day, when the man had walked in. By this time, Combeferre had been a regular at the Cafe for a few months and had gotten to know most of it's frequent customers, so he easily noticed the new face. The man was tall and slender, with long, blond curls and high, prominent cheekbones. In fact, the first time Combeferre saw him, he nearly mistook him for a woman, but it became quite obvious from the steely, blue-eyed gaze and proud lift to his chin that he was a young man, however pale and angelic he appeared. He had simply walked in, ordered a coffee, asked for directions to the nearest inn, another indication that he was new to Paris, and walked back out.

Since that day, Combeferre had seen him quite a handful of times, although he never learned the man's name. Often times he would merely come in for a drink, lingering only few moments before heading back out and hurrying on his way. Other times, he would come with a book to read or a stack of papers that he would sit down to scribble away on and stay a while. Overall, he seemed a normal enough young man. He was polite enough to the staff, and well-mannered too, lowering his eyes chastely when young women approached him, hands never wandering like some young men's tended to do. However, he was quiet, and never said much, keeping mostly to himself, which was why it surprised Combeferre to see him taking part in such a heated argument.

He watched the three talk back and forth for a few minutes while his friends behind him told stories he had heard a thousand times before. Just as the argument appeared to truly heat up, and it appeared that they may move beyond a simple verbal spar, an employee of the cafe walked over and broke it up. The golden-haired man, who had mostly managed to keep hold of his temper, said a few more words, and, appearing to apologize to the employee, calmly sat back down. For a long moment, it seemed like the other two men were going to ignore the interruption and perhaps jump over the table to attack him, but eventually they just shook their heads, turned on their heels and stalked out of the cafe.

Any other occupants who had been watching the altercation quietly went back to their business, as Combeferre himself was about to do when the young man glanced around and caught his eye. Slightly embarassed to have been caught staring so openly, he quickly tore his eyes away.

When he risked another look back a few minutes later, the man had gone back to writing, his fountain pen swishing elegantly across the page. Deciding not to think anything more of it, Combeferre turned back to his friends and attempted to catch the flow of their conversation.

* * *

It was only a little later that night when Combeferre encountered the man again. As both of them had to attend early classes at the University the next morning, he and Courfeyrac decided to leave earlier than usual. Leaving the gentle hum of voices behind, they exited the Musain and were about to go their separate ways when they heard cursing and the sounds of a struggle. He met Courfeyrac's panicked gaze for a split second before they both ran over to the source of the sound - the small alley beside the Cafe.

The night was cold and the alley was so dark that they could hardly make out anything other than three dark silhouettes. As their eyes adjusted to the blackness, they slowly began to make out the details of the situation. One man was holding another's arms tightly behind their back, despite the struggles of the captured man. Even as they watched, a third figure stepped forward to punch the restrained man in the stomach. The man's movements stilled, hunching over with the force of the blow, a gasp escaping his lips.

The man drew his hand back, readying himself for another assault when Courfeyrac jumped forward, calling out, "Hey! Leave him alone!" The unexpected outburst startled the trio, causing the attacking man to stay his hand. The surprise also appeared to cause the closest man's grip to slacken just enough for his captive to struggle free. Even as Courfeyrac began to engage one of the men and Combeferre stepped forward to help him, the smaller man, now released, was already loosing a punch of his own against his attacker.

After a few tense moments, apparently sensing that he was fighting a losing battle, the man engaged with Courfeyrac ducked under a punch, turning quickly and running headlong into the other two fighting men. Gathering up his accomplice, the two males disappeared down the alley, their forms quickly swallowed up by the blackness.

"Courfeyrac, are you alright?" Combeferre asked, stepping towards him. However, as his friend turned to face him, it became obvious that he was not injured, although he was breathing quite heavily. Combeferre merely laid a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder, and the two of them looked over to the other side of the alley.

Now that his eyes had adjusted, Combeferre was shocked to see that the man who had been attacked was, in fact, the same boy who had been in the argument in the cafe earlier that night. He wore the same dark clothes, although his tie had been loosened and he appeared severely disheveled. He slumped against the stone walls of the alley as his chest heaved, one arm held protectively across his chest, the other resting on the wall behind him. Bright blue eyes stared at them intently from underneath his golden curls, a sheen of sweat visible on his forehead. But the most unnerving thing was the wicked smirk that was on his face. Crimson blood still spilled from a large split in his bottom lip, making him quite a gruesome sight.

"Monsieur, are you alright?" Combeferre asked, releasing Courfeyrac and moving closer to the man, who appeared dangerously close to toppling over despite his confident appearance.

"Yes, I'm fine." The man said.

"What did those men want?" Courfeyrac asked, staring curiously.

"We just had a little... disagreement. None of your business, really." He replied, his predatory grin growing wider, the bright whiteness of his teeth becoming visible even from the shadows.

"Is that any way to treat the two men who probably just saved your life?" Courfeyrac growled, taking a step forward angrily, but Combeferre squeezed the hand on his shoulder tightly, holding him back. Courfeyrac barely spared him an exasperated glance, but once again, stepped back.

"Yes, well, for that, messieurs, I thank you. Now, I'll just be going," The stranger pushed off the wall and made to walk away, but a long shudder suddenly appeared to grip him and nearly sweep him off his feet. Letting out a huff, his hand came up again to brace himself against the wall of the alley.

Combeferre stepped forward several paces, seeking only to help the obviously injured man, but paused when the man lurched back away from him. He looked pleadingly back at Courfeyrac, who, at the sight, appeared to remember himself and find some compassion in his heart for the man.

"Please monsieur, allow my friend to take a look at you. He's a doctor," Courfeyrac said, and the man's eyes turned to him questioningly.

"My friend exaggerates. I am no doctor yet, merely studying to become one. However, I may be of some use if you'd allow me to look you over?" Combeferre corrected, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace, showing he meant him no harm.

The man paused, seemingly to think it over for a moment, and, realizing that the two probably weren't going to leave him alone, gave a sharp nod. Relieved, Combeferre stepped closer, examining the man closely. He felt the man's eyes trained sharply on him, and though it was difficult in the dark, he could make out the split lip, the bloody knuckles and telltale signs of bruising on his face and other areas. Thankfully, he didn't appear to have a head wound, which was what had worried Combeferre the most. He knew that there was a very big chance of more injuries being hidden beneath his clothes, but he also knew the alley was no place to check for those, if the man even allowed him to.

"Well, monsieur...?" Combeferre paused, waiting for a name.

"Call me Enjolras." The man, Enjolras, supplied after a long moment.

"Well, Enjolras, I'm Combeferre, and my friend over there is Courfeyrac," He said, gesturing towards Courfeyrac, who had taken to leaning against the opposite wall, trying to look unconcerned even while his eyes watched them like a hawk. "You don't appear to have any serious injuries. Is there anywhere in particular hurting you? Did you take a blow to the head?"

Enjolras shook his head. "No. Thank you again for the concern, Monsieur Combeferre, but I told you, I'm fine." He stepped away, but despite his casual demeanor, Combeferre caught his wince and it was quite obvious when he wrapped his arms around his middle that something was not right.

"Wait! I'm worried that you may have broken a rib or two. Will you come inside so that I can take a look at it?" Combeferre cried desperately. The other man merely stared at him, and Comebeferre knew that he would never get anything out of him while they stood in that dark alley. "Or I could take you back to my apartment, if you'd like. It's not far, and it's more quiet and private than the Musain." He offered, surprising himself a little.

It was unusual for him to make such a sudden offer to a stranger, especially one who had been as ungrateful as this one, but there was simply something about the boy that made him want to help him out. Enjolras looked so young, almost young enough to have been Combeferre's brother had he been blessed with a sibling. Also, despite the air of aloofness and confidence that he tried to portray, in the few weeks he had watched him from across the coffee shop, Combeferre had always thought he seemed lonely. He had never seen him with anyone, and he didn't speak much, only offering a few short words when necessary to those around him.

Enjolras studied him suspiciously for a long moment, but eventually said, "You're not going to go away, are you?" At Combeferre's shake of the head, he sighed. "Fine. Lead the way."

His lack of resistance made Combeferre think that perhaps he had been right about the ribs after all. He stepped closer to Enjolras, and, with a sigh, the younger man allowed him to wrap an arm around his shoulders to help support his weight, although it was obvious he was uncomfortable. Courfeyrac made to move forward to help as well, but Combeferre felt Enjolras stiffen beside him even more, if that was possible.

"Actually, Courfeyrac, I think we should be all right. It's not far, and besides, your place is the other way." He said, thinking quickly. Courfeyrac hesitated, indecision and worry clear on his face, clearly wondering if it was safe to leave his friend alone with such an apparently dangerous stranger. "We'll be fine. Don't forget you have an early class tomorrow." He said firmly.

It took a second, but Courfeyrac stepped back. "Very well. Jehan and I will stop by your place tomorrow. Be safe," He warned, turning and walking back towards the well-lit street. Combeferre and Enjolras followed more slowly, turning the other way at the end of the alley, but he could feel Courfeyrac's eyes linger on them until they turned the next corner.

* * *

Combeferre had not been lying when he said that he lived close by. Although it took a bit longer than usual, it wasn't long before he had Enjolras seated at a kitchen chair, looking up at him expectantly.

"You're going to have to remove your shirt, you know." Combeferre stated blandly, slightly amused. Enjolras gave no reply, but he seemed to stiffen, his gaze turning away, eyes sliding to the side, no longer able to meet Combeferre's.

Combeferre waited patiently as his rigid fingers reached up to unbutton his high collar, working slowly down until he could shrug out of the stiff material. His frozen, emotionless face was fixed on a point on the opposite wall, thus missing Combeferre's brief look of utter shock as he saw the state of the other man's body.

Darkening purple and blue bruises from the earlier fight were quickly beginning to appear on Enjolras' arms and chest, but the young medic had expected that. It was the other marks, the various nicks and scars covering him, that were so surprising. One long scar in particular lightened the skin halfway up his arm, and he saw another, circular blemish high up on the man's shoulder that he swore was a cigarette burn.

But the most horrifying scar of all was located higher, just above Enjolras' collarbone but not quite at his neck. A few shades darker than the rest of the pale skin, Combeferre immediately knew what had made the scar, although he couldn't comprehend what the man could have done to warrant a gunshot wound.

"Something to say?" He heard Enjolras say defiantly through his shock. Despite the fact that he wouldn't look at Combeferre, his face never lowered, gaze never wavering from that spot on the wall, his chin jutting out harshly, jaw set.

"No." He said, swallowing harshly, hoping his voice didn't give him away. Suddenly determined to help this young man in any way he could, he quickly schooled his features into an expression he hoped seemed calm and impartial. Gathering his thoughts, he stepped forward and tried to put his energy into examining Enjolras for current injuries rather than old ones. Moving as quickly and gently as possible, he silently poked and prodded he man's ribs as the youth looked on impassively. Out of the corner of his eye, Combeferre caught him wincing slightly a few times, but refrained from commenting, not wanting to wound the man's pride any further.

Finally satisfied, he stepped back. "Well, I don't think you've broken anything. You may have simply bruised your ribs a bit, but as long as you take it easy for the next few days, you should be fine." He said.

"Well then, I'll be going." Enjolras said, although he didn't seem surprised by the diagnosis, already rising out of his chair and grabbing his shirt that was hanging off the back.

"Wait!" Combeferre said suddenly, making Enjolras glance up at him in surprise. For a long moment, he didn't say anything more, suddenly unsure.

He barely knew the man, yet there was something about Enjolras that made him feel unusually protective. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. It was obvious that he was capable of taking care of himself, and, now that they were standing in the well-lit kitchen of Combeferre's apartment, he could blatantly see the muscles in Enjolras' arms and well-toned abdomen. And if the scars were any indication, the man was no stranger to defending himself. Despite being older, if it came to a duel, Combeferre had no doubt that Enjolras would be the victor.

Yet for some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to protect him. Maybe it was the fact that despite the muscle tone, he could still spot the unnatural outlines of the man's ribs. He still looked so small and thin and lonely standing there in Combeferre's kitchen without a shirt or coat. It could have been the scars, and the thought that he had obviously been through many hardships for some one his age. Perhaps the heart of the matter was the fact that Enjolras just seemed so very young, too young to be wandering all alone in Paris. Or it could have been a combination of all those things, but either way, looking at him now, Combeferre simply couldn't just let him walk out his door in such a state.

Enjolras was still looking at him expectantly, although the med student thought he could detect the traces of an amused smile on his lips. Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, Combeferre rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Well, I, uhm..." Taking a breath, he cleared his throat and gathered his thoughts. Now there was definitely a grin on the man's face.

"You should stay here for the night. It's too late to walk the streets alone, especially when you're injured." He saw Enjolras open his mouth to protest. "I have an extra room, so you won't be an inconvenience."

"Why are you doing this?" Enjolras burst out harshly.

Confused, he fumbled for words. "Doing what?"

"Going out of your way like this for me."

Combeferre looked at him strangely, unsure of what to say. To be honest, he didn't totally understand why he was doing it either. After a moment of thought, he replied truthfully, "Because it's the right thing to do."

He silently watched Enjolras blink a few times, apparently taken aback. But after a few moments, he seemed to collect himself. "Very well. I'll stay, since you insist." He said.

Combeferre blinked, surprised at the nonchalant reply. For some reason, he had expected more resistance from the stranger, and he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to say or do now. Dealing with Enjolras was beginning to seem like quite an affair, one that constantly left him feeling confused and unsure. The man was so aloof one moment, yet quite compliant the next, and he still wasn't sure what to make of it.

Enjolras was looking at him with that cool, mildly amused expression again. Realizing that he had gotten lost in his thoughts and feeling distinctly disheveled, he left Enjolras standing in the kitchen without a word, going in search of some of his old clothes to lend him.

Easily finding some he thought might fit the man, he returned to the kitchen to find Enjolras with his shirt back on, leaning casually against the counter top, arms folded across his chest. Handing him the clothes, he said, "The room is the second door on the left." Enjolras merely nodded before disappearing down the hall. Combeferre turned to watch him go, feeling quite out of sorts and wondering what, exactly, he had gotten himself into.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

105lula: Good guess! Yes, one of the boys in the prologue was Enjolras, but the other was not Grantaire. :O Unfortunately, we won't be meeting Grantaire for a while yet.

I'd also like to say that this will not be a Combeferre/Enjolras story! This will be friendship only. Anyone who wants to read farther into things is free to do so (and it probably isn't that hard to do, to be honest) but I am writing this with only friendship in mind for them.

* * *

Chapter 2

When he woke the next morning, Enjolras was gone.

The only sign the room had been disturbed was the set of clothes lying folded neatly a top the bed. The bed itself was made up so perfectly that it was like no one had ever stayed there, and Combeferre almost wondered if he had dreamt the entire encounter. The room appeared completely untouched, still just as empty as the day he moved in.

The thick curtains were closed– they had never been opened – stifling the sun and casting darkness over everything. A thick layer of dust coated the desk, the only other piece of furniture in the bare room. It was just as empty as the rest of his apartment, and he didn't know why that fact suddenly bothered him so much.

Feeling unsettled, Combeferre decided to forget about the events of the night before and go about his routine. For some reason the apartment felt strangely empty to him now, although he couldn't put his finger on exactly why.

He was no stranger to solitude. He had been living alone since the day he moved to Paris, just after high school. In fact, there were boxes of old things still lying in corners of his apartment that he had never even opened. He had never felt the need; he was never one to care much about material things.

Even before moving to Paris, he had been an only child, and was mostly left alone. His parents loved him, he knew that, but he wasn't particularly close to them. He sent them letters often, but he kept a regular correspondence with them more through a sense of duty than actual attachment.

His friends - Joly, who he met while volunteering at the hospital, and Jehan, who he had one class with in first year and felt an immediate kinship with, hardly visited him either. Even Courfeyrac, despite being his oldest friend, had never stayed over.

When they were younger, things had been different. Combeferre had been a shy, quiet kid. While he never had problems with the other kids at school, none of them had ever tried to get to know him, nor he them. In class he would listen attentively but never raise his hand; at recess he preferred to stay inside and read.

Then Courfeyrac's family had moved into town, and with them they brought a bright, vibrant young man who wouldn't leave Combeferre alone. The youth had instantly become friends with almost everyone in their class, but for some reason it was Combeferre who he came to bother every day at recess, daring him to open up.

And after a time, he had.

Courfeyrac had been the first person to truly accept him for who he was while at the same time constantly pushing him out of his comfort zone. Courfeyrac always had a large group of friends that he would go about with, and that hadn't changed through high school and all the way to their third year of University. But he had always tried to include Combeferre, who had only ever wanted to stay home with his head stuck in a book. The boy's exuberant personality was impossible to resist, and as time passed, Combeferre took him up on his offers more and more, slowly coming out of his shell.

As they grew into teenagers, it was Courfeyrac who would pull him away from his homework when he was feeling too stressed out and cheered him up. It was Courfeyrac who left him alone with his thoughts when he couldn't bear to be around anyone else.

Courfeyrac who helped him escape the stifling silence of his big, lonely house when books weren't enough to fill the empty spaces.

But it had been three years since high school; so many things had changed, and his big, lonely mansion had turned into a small, stifling, empty apartment.

No longer wanting to dwell on confusing thoughts, he was thankfully pulled out of his reprieve by a knock on the door. Opening it, he found Courfeyrac and the tiny Jehan standing there.

"Hey, is that guy still here?" Was Courfeyrac's first question.

"Enjolras? No, he left this morning."

"This morning?" Courfeyrac's eyebrows shot up.

"It wasn't like that, Courf." Combeferre said, throwing his friend an exasperated look. "He couldn't go out alone that late at night, and you know I have the spare room. It wasn't any trouble."

"What are you two talking about? Who's this mystery man?" Jehan asked curiously.

"His name's Enjolras. He was being attacked outside the Musain when we passed by last night. We jumped in and the two guys backed off. I had him stay here, since he was pretty beat up." He explained patiently.

"Tall, blond, hair like a girl. Maybe you've seen him around. He's a loner, but it makes sense, as he's kind of a jerk." Courfeyrac added.

"Hmmm, I may have seen him before. There's a man like that who comes in to the library a lot." Jehan said.

"Well, whoever he is, it doesn't matter now. We may never see him again. Jehan, you needed those papers right?" At the boy's eager nod, Combeferre went to grab them and, foregoing breakfast, the trio walked out the door and headed off to their classes.

* * *

Despite his words, it was the very next day that Combeferre met Enjolras a second time. Walking into the Musain like usual, he walked up to the counter and was pleasantly surprised to find his usual coffee order already prepared and waiting for him. When he went to pay, he became even more shocked to hear that it had been paid for by someone else. Inquiring as to who, the waitress merely pointed him towards a man sitting at the table in the corner.

He recognized Enjolras at once, lounging back in his chair, a drink of his own on the table in front of him. Lazy, laughing blue eyes watched him. Surprised, Combeferre gathered his things and walked over to join the younger man.

"You left early this morning."

Enjolras merely shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm used to waking up early."

"So how are you feeling? Any pain?" The medic in him couldn't resist at least asking, although he doubted Enjolras would give him a straight answer.

"I'm fine." His eyes tightened a little at the question, but otherwise he gave no reason for Combeferre not to believe him. He could see a hint of a dark purple bruise on his wrist, but other than that there were no signs that his injuries were troubling him.

They lapsed into awkward silence while Enjolras stared steadily at him as if trying to figure something out, a long finger tapping lightly on the side of his cup. After a long moment, he leaned forward to settle his arms on the table. "Why did you really help me last night?" He asked bluntly.

Combeferre's eyebrows raised. "What are you talking about?"

"No one simply helps a stranger out of the kindness of their heart, so you must have an ulterior motive. I can't think of anything I own that you would want, so what is it?" To Combeferre's shock, the man seemed completely serious.

"That's quite cynical, don't you think?"

"It's the truth." Enjolras' expression didn't change.

Incredulous, Combeferre shook his head in disbelief. "I'm sorry you think that, monsieur, but I truly don't want anything from you. I appreciate the coffee, it was thanks enough for me, but I really must be going." Abruptly, he rose from the table, and when it didn't appear the other man was going to make a move to stop him, he swiftly left the shop.

After that day, Combeferre didn't see Enjolras for a long time. The man stopped coming to the Musain, at least when Combeferre was there to observe. While he had been a regular at the shop for some time, now he was nowhere to be found.

He tried to ignore the man's absence, but he couldn't help to feel it was in part his fault. The inital anger he had felt at the accusation had quickly faded, and he now regretted being so short with the man. He didn't know what Enjolras' problem was or understand why he insisted on being so cold when all Combeferre had done was help him, but for some reason, he still felt that there was something he could have said or done differently. He wished he could see him one last time to make sure his injuries were healing properly, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it now. Other than seeing him at the coffee shop, Combeferre had no idea where Enjolras lived or any other places he might find him. He remembered that Jehan had mentioned seeing someone like him at his job at the local library, but when pressed, the slim man admitted that even if it had truly been Enjolras, he had stopped coming by there as well.

When he asked the employees at the Musain if they had seen him come in lately or knew where he could find him, he was met with more negative anwers that merely fuelled the guilt hidden in the pit of his stomach. Even Eponine, a friend who worked there occasionally but knew the streets of Paris better than anyone else he had met, had no idea where the man had went. He knew Enjolras was new to the city, which meant the man could be anywhere, but no one seemed to have seen him.

Sometimes, when sitting in the Musain between classes, he would look up and swear he saw the flicker of a red coat disappearing around a corner, but it was never more than a quick glimpse and it made him feel more and more like he was chasing a ghost.

When he voiced these concerns to Courfeyrac, he was met with incredulousness and an offer to acquaint him with a lady friend to get his mind off of it. When he refused, his friend had merely shrugged and told him not to worry. "You said yourself he was new to the city, mon ami, he could have moved to a different part of the city or left Paris entirely. It's just like you to worry about a stranger, but you're better off to forget about him."

As time went on, Combeferre began to admit that Courfeyrac might have been right, and he tried to put the entire ordeal out of his mind. It occured to him that it was probably quite presumptuous to assume that he was the reason the man had stopped coming to the coffee shop, anyway.

His normal routine continued, and soon enough his school work and the hours he spent volunteering at the local hospital put all thoughts of Enjolras and his red coat far from his mind.

* * *

A few weeks passed, and Combeferre had just stopped searching for a mysterious youth with blond hair and a red coat when he finally found him again.

Courfeyrac had invited him out to the Musain one night, and although he had told himself he wasn't going to go, by the end of the night he found himself walking towards the Cafe desperately in search of a stiff drink.

It had been a long day. He had had another one of his early morning classes followed by many long, stressful hours at the hospital and his nerves were worn thin. While he usually enjoyed his hours spent helping people at the hospital, some days it was hard to take. The sheer amount of pain and suffering he had to see people endure there was astounding.

Considering the fact that he wasn't truly interned there yet, he was often given only small, menial tasks like helping out the nurses and comforting patients' friends and family. When it came to the serious cases, most of the time he was shooed out of the room before he witnessed anything too damaging.

On busier days, however, the doctors and nurses couldn't shield him from the worst of it. He knew what he was signing up for when he chose to go into medicine, but the extent of the injuries he could see on these days still turned his stomach and put him in a black mood.

It was days like these that made him wonder if he had chosen the right profession.

"Combeferre! You made it!" Courfeyrac cheered, no doubt already far past tipsy. The bright lights and loud noises inside made Combeferre regret his decision to come almost immediately.

"You look like you need this." Giving his friend a tight smile, he gratefully accepted the drink that Bahorel handed to him. The large man was Courfeyrac's favourite partner in crime on nights like this, although he could hold his liquor far better than the other man.

Combeferre spotted more people he knew mingling around the bar, although he couldn't bring himself to start a conversation with any of them. Marius was talking to Eponine, a bartender also in their circle of friends, but he could tell from her expression that he was undoubtably talking about Cosette again. Marius had been hung up over the blonde for months, but he was too oblivious to notice what he was doing to his friend, who would never admit it but was hopelessly in love with the naive boy.

Knowing that that situation was far too painful for him to become involved in, Combeferre shook his head and combed the room in search for others he knew.

Jehan was absent, but that wasn't a surprise. The petite man preferred to stay home on nights like these, not caring for the boisterous, rowdy atmosphere. Feuilly, too, was missing, but that wasn't a surprise either considering he was holding down two jobs and often worked nights.

Sitting at an empty table and slowly nursing his drink, Combeferre was wondering how early he could slip out without Courfeyrac noticing when a flash of red caught his eye. Blinking quickly, he at first wondered if he was imagining things, but when the slim man didn't disappear he knew he wasn't dreaming.

Instead, the man noticed Combeferre sitting all by himself in the corner and came over to sit with him.

"Long time no see, doctor," was his only greeting, leaving Combeferre to gape at him in shock. "What?" The man at least had the decency to look confused.

Regaining his wits, the young medic managed to reply, "I've been trying to find you since that day a few weeks ago, but no one had any idea where you'd gone."

"Ah, I see. I had to leave Paris to take care of a few things that had come up back home, but I'm back now." He gave no other explanation.

"And home is...?" Combeferre trailed off, waiting to be supplied with a location and learn a bit more about the enigma sitting in front of him.

Enjolras chose not to answer, instead abruptly changing the topic with a question of his own. "So those are friends of yours?" He asked, jutting his chin towards the bar, where Courfeyrac and Bahorel now sat, Eponine supplying them with drinks as they tried to beat each other at a drinking game. Courfeyrac, Combeferre knew, would surely lose after a few more shots, but he didn't blame his friend for trying.

Deciding to indulge the man rather than press the issue, he allowed the change of subject, replying, "Yes, Courfeyrac's my oldest friend, and we met Bahorel and the others at the University when we moved to Paris."

Courfeyrac had met Bahorel on the day they arrived due to the fact that they were paired up to share a dorm room, while Combeferre had moved into his own apartment off campus. The three of them had hit it off quite spectacularly, with Jehan, Feuilly, Marius and Eponine joining their regular circle of friends shortly after.

"Why aren't you over there with them, then?" Enjolras turned back to him.

Shrugging, he merely said, "I promised Courfeyrac I'd come, but it's been a long day and I'd prefer the peace and quiet." The faces of the people he'd seen at the hospital today flashed before his eyes and he downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp. Enjolras merely watched him intently from the corner of his eye, not saying a word.

"It seems more like there's something you're trying to forget," The man commented softly, but Combeferre didn't answer. He only stared down into his glass, watching the golden light flicker along its sides, his tongue stuck to the top of his mouth. Enjolras merely shrugged, not pressing the issue, but Combeferre could have sworn his mouth twitched up a bit at the side.

A spark of anger lit inside him, but it sputtered and died just as quickly as it came. It seemed they both had things they'd rather not talk about. _Well played_, he thought, and together they watched the crowd growing around the bar.

True to Combeferre's predictions, it was only a few drinks later that Bahorel was announced the winner. Courfeyrac, laughing histerically, clapped his friend on the shoulder and stood up, nearing falling over in the process.

"Well, I think he's had enough. I'd better go make sure he gets home alright." Combeferre announced. Enjolras didn't reply, merely nodding in farewell, and he left to gather up his wayward friend.

Later that night, after escorting his drunken friend home, Combeferre returned to his flat and lay awake in bed for a long time, trying not to think about big, empty houses or the colour of blood.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Bit of a filler chapter here, but bear with me. We get to meet Joly and give some more background information. The real drama starts in the next chapter :) Thank you to those of you who have reviewed, it makes me happy to see that people are reading my story and interested in it. Please continue to leave reviews, and constructive criticism is always welcomed.

* * *

Learning To Burn Chapter 3

"Combeferre, I think I'm dying."

Combeferre, who had been hanging up his coat, paused for a moment to consider Joly's pleading face and tried not to laugh.

"What is it this time, Joly?" He asked, knowing it was better to indulge his friend when he was like this. The exuberant young man immediately began to list off a series of vague experiences and slight discomforts and the possible maladies that could accompany them, just as he had done many times before.

He had met Joly on his first day volunteering at the hospital, and they had quickly become friends. The man was a few years older than himself and had already started his internship at the time Combeferre started volunteering there.

Although he was only an intern, in Combeferre's eyes Joly was one of the brightest young aspiring doctors he'd ever met, even if he was a hypochondriac. More often than not, the young man would greet him by recounting an experience he'd had, be it a cough or a particularly bad sneeze, followed by a possible diagnosis for this ailment.

Nonetheless, Joly had a talent with patients like none Combeferre had ever seen. He somehow maintained his joyous personality despite the horrific injuries he saw on people coming into the hospital every day. Joly had a kind, caring temperament and a gentle hand. He seemed to have an experience beyond his years, one far beyond those of his fellow interns who weren't nearly as good at attending patients yet.

Combeferre had seen the man give a young girl 15 stitches without having her shed a tear because she was too busy telling him all about a new toy she received for her birthday. Joly had a talent with people that Combeferre didn't think he himself possessed, and for that and many other things, he admired the intern.

However, in addition to his amiable personality, there was an air of clinical professionalism in Joly that Combeferre admired as well. Their jobs weren't always pretty, and Combeferre had also seen the man ruthlessly pop a child's shoulder back into place after he had dislocated it falling from a tree. Combeferre knew it was necessary, and he was aware that he would be required to do the same thing when he entered his own internship, but he still cringed at the thought of doing it himself.

The idea that sometimes, in order to heal someone, it was also necessary to hurt them, was a thought that felt cold and foreign to him, and he wondered if he would be able to do what was needed when the time came. Nonetheless, it was still a trait that he respected in other doctors, Joly in particular, because they held a strength of will that allowed them to do what needed to be done.

Like the other doctors and nurses, Joly also had a tendency to try to shield Combeferre from the worst of the injured patients, and he still wasn't sure if he was grateful or resentful of the fact.

As he was still only an intern, Joly wasn't often allowed to assist in the more severe cases either, but it was obvious that he still tried to keep Combeferre from seeing the worst of it when he could. Whenever a bad case came into the emergency room, the intern somehow found something extremely menial for him to do to get him out of the area – which was saying a lot, considering the fact that there wasn't many important things a volunteer could do anyway. Most of the time he was merely assigned to record keeping, cleaning, changing bed pans, talking to patients' families or dressing the simplest of wounds. That was the kind of work he had expected when he first began volunteering there. However, even though he didn't deal with the patients first hand, he was occasionally close enough to witness something more horrific than usual, and it was those kind of injuries that Joly tried to steer him clear of.

Even though he knew they probably only did it because he was simply a new volunteer, a part of Combeferre wondered if Joly and the rest of the staff did this because they didn't think he could handle it.

However, while he'd never admit it, a larger part of him was immensely grateful for their efforts. Because while he tried his best to keep him from seeing the worst of it, Joly couldn't be everywhere at once, and some of the injuries Combeferre had seen since he'd started volunteering there still bothered him.

Then again, if he was being honest, while some of the injuries turned his stomach and made him feel ill, it wasn't always the blood or the gore that bothered him most. It was the idea that one day, those patients would be under his care, that he would have to face them and try to save their lives.

The thought that he might not be good enough to save them was what haunted him the most.

Suddenly realizing that the young intern had stopped talking and was staring at him curiously, Combeferre quickly shook his hood to dispel his dark thoughts. "Joly, you're not dying. I'm sure you'll be fine in a few days."

"Well, if you say so, Combeferre." Joly admitted cautiously, putting away his own coat and getting ready for his shift to start.

This time Combeferre shook his head in amusement. While it was true that Joly was an excellent doctor, when it came to his own health he was completely unable to be reasoned with. Eventually, the man would come to the same conclusion Combeferre had, but until then it was pointless to argue with him.

Suddenly, a nurse popped her head into the room and glanced quickly around before calling out, "Combeferre? Are you here? Housecleaning needs your help in the left wing today."

Of course, there were always the days where he was kept far away from the typical hustle and bustle of the emergency room because someone needed him to do the cleaning. Groaning, Combeferre stuffed the rest of his things into his locker, throwing a dark look at Joly as his friend burst out laughing.

"We've all been through it, Combeferre. You'll be an intern yourself soon enough!" Joly called after him.

* * *

Thankfully, luck was on Combeferre's side that day and he was able to end his shift earlier than expected.

Quickly gathering up his things, he bid the other employees goodbye and headed home. He didn't see Joly on his way out even though he knew he was still on shift, but he supposed the intern was off somewhere taking care of a patient. He walked outside, immediately pulling up his collar against a sudden cold blast of wind. Slowly but surely, the snow was beginning to melt and winter was fading into spring, but there was still a chill in the air that made it too cold to go without a coat just yet.

Having promised to meet Enjolras at the Musain after his shift, he first stopped by his apartment to drop off his bag before walking over to the café even though he was now a few minutes early. He entered to find it relatively empty aside from its regulars. Enjolras had yet to appear, but he was pleased to see that Eponine was behind the counter today.

"Morning, 'Ponine," He greeted her, leaning casually against the counter of the bar across from the brunette.

"Morning, Combeferre. You'll be having your usual, then?" Eponine replied casually, already moving to pour him a coffee. He opened his mouth to ask for a second cup for Enjolras, but she beat him to that as well. "And Monsieur Enjolras' regular, too?" She said, glancing once up at him from under her lashes as she grabbed a second cup.

Smiling, Combeferre merely shook his head in amusement and placed the money on the counter to pay for the coffees, to which Eponine merely grinned and handed them to him. "You know me too well, Eponine."

After Enjolras had returned from wherever he had disappeared off to for a month, he had resumed his visits to the Musain, where he frequently bumped into Combeferre. In fact, it had turned into such a regular occurrence that they had simply fallen into a routine of meeting up around similar times on certain days and having a coffee together.

"No, 'Ferre, you're just completely predictable. And now that I think about it, you're back from the hospital pretty early. Easy day?"

"That's probably true. It was the same as usual, but I was stuck on cleaning duty today and the nurses took pity on me." He paused to take a sip of the steaming liquid and listen to Eponine laugh. "By the way, how was the party last night?" As per usual, Courfeyrac had invited everyone he knew out last night, just like he did every other Friday.

After a long day and knowing he had to get up early to get to the hospital in the morning, Combeferre had declined, but he knew that Eponine had been scheduled to work. Some of the other employees didn't like to work Fridays because the boys could get rowdy, but he knew that Eponine often volunteered to do so. He knew that she needed the money and she wasn't afraid to chew them out if they got too violent or hands-on.

"It wasn't too bad, actually. I think that by now, most of the boys know to behave themselves when I'm on shift." She grinned again, showing off a dimple in her check. Combeferre glanced down and murmured an agreement.

"Did Courfeyrac and Bahorel get into another one of their drinking matches?" He asked, knowing he wouldn't be surprised if someone had had to drag Courfeyrac home afterwards.

"No. They almost did, but thankfully Feuilly showed up and talked them out of it. I don't understand why Courfeyrac insists on challenging him when he knows he can't win." Eponine replied in exasperation.

Combeferre glanced up in surprise. "Feuilly came by last night?"

"Yeah. He said something about his shift being cancelled at the last minute. Which job, though, I couldn't tell you." Eponine explained quickly before being called off for a refill from one of the regulars.

Combeferre felt a slight twinge of disappointment; it had been quite a few weeks since he had last seen the other man, and had he known he was coming by the Musain last night, he might have headed out for a few hours himself rather than turning in early.

Eponine quickly returned. "Oh, don't beat yourself up over it, 'Ferre. He didn't stay long. Someone dragged poor Jehan out last night, too, and neither of them were interested in staying very late, so Feuilly took him home before things got too out of hand." This comforted him a bit. He knew that the gentle Jehan didn't care much for the drinking scene, but the few times he did come out with them, it was usually Combeferre who left early with him.

"And Marius?" Combeferre enquired cautiously. Eponine's face immediately darkened, which was an answer to his question by itself, and he immediately regretted asking about the boy.

"He was here most of the night." She replied curtly. _And spent the entire time mooning over Cosette_. The words went unsaid, but he could feel them hanging in the air between them.

"Eponine..." He started sympathetically, unsure of what he was going to say, but he had already lost her.

Luckily, they were saved any more awkwardness by the sound of a patron calling for another drink. Without a second glance, the young girl was off.

Combeferre sighed, mentally berating himself for mentioning the object of the girl's affections. Ever since he had met the pair back in his first year of University, it had been blatantly obvious to everyone but Marius that Eponine cared deeply for him. They had been childhood friends, but as far as Combeferre knew, the blond boy had never given Eponine a second glance.

Courfeyrac and the others had always felt it best to let the pair work it out amongst themselves, and Combeferre always acquiesced to this decision even though he would have liked to knock some sense into the oblivious Marius.

While Combeferre had always felt slightly awkward being around them, things had never been as bad as they were currently. A few months ago, an old acquaintance of Eponine's, known as Cosette, had moved back to Paris and immediately caught Marius' eye.

Since then, Eponine had been stuck between the two as they danced around their feelings. Marius was quite vocal about his affections for the young girl, much to the dismay of his oldest friend. As for Cosette, Combeferre had met her only one time. She had seemed quite pleasant, and appeared to return Marius' feelings, but he had learned later that it was because of her strict father that they hadn't begun officially courting yet.

Which left Eponine heartbroken and Combeferre waiting for the fallout.

Thankfully, he was pulled out of his reverie by the sound of the café's door opening and closing, accompanied by a blast of cool air. Turning to see Enjolras' golden hair and ruby coloured coat standing in the doorway, he got up to hand the man the coffee and find an empty table they could use.

"And here I thought I was going to be the early one." The man accepted the warm cup gratefully and followed him obediently to a table.

"Yes, well, I was let off from the hospital early today so I just came straight here." He explained as the man settled into the seat across from him.

"So you're already an intern at the hospital, then?" Enjolras enquired.

"Not yet. I'm simply volunteering there for now. Cleaning, dressing simple wounds, things like that." He explained.

"Is that why I didn't see you here with your friends last night?" Enjolras asked, eyes watching him from over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Yes." Not supplying any further information, he continued on with a question of his own. "You were here, then?"

"I was around, yes." Enjolras replied just as cryptically, hiding a smirk as he sipped the steaming liquid. "Your friend refrained from drinking himself half to death last night."

"So I heard. Courfeyrac can be quite... impulsive, at times, I will admit."

"Impulsive isn't quite the word I'd use." Enjolras commented bluntly.

A spark of irritation lit inside him. "Oh? What word would you use?"

"Careless. Foolhardy. Impetuous." The man replied disdainfully.

"Some would say the same of you – reckless, arrogant." Combeferre retorted, feeling suddenly defensive of his oldest friend.

Enjolras merely laughed, irritating Combeferre further but dispelling any lingering resentment. "That may be true," He replied, but said nothing more on the matter, leaving Combeferre to stare at him thoughtfully for a few moments.

At first glance, Enjolras was the perfect gentleman. He was kind and polite to those who addressed him, and he treated ladies with the respect they were due.

Before meeting him outside the café on that fateful night only a month or so ago, he had thought the man to be pleasant enough. However, the more he learned about the enigma sitting in front of him, the less he felt he understood about the man.

While polite on the surface, there was no warmth in his courtesy. He typically ended conversations before they could become to personal, and if any topic did stray in that direction, he either deflected it or responded with hostility. He never supplied any information more than what was than necessary, and Combeferre knew first-hand that he was suspicious of others and easily brought to anger.

The fight that Courfeyrac and Combeferre had rescued him from was not the only one he'd had. Since the man's return to Paris merely a week or so ago, Combeferre suspected he had already been in another fight.

Although the youth said not a word about it and he never witnessed it first-hand, being an aspiring doctor meant that Combeferre couldn't miss the signs – a shadow of a bruise on his jaw that hadn't been there the day before, a slight stiffness in the way he walked and held himself.

It had been too long for the injuries to still be remaining from that initial fight outside the Musain, but considering Enjolras' argumentative attitude, it didn't surprise Combeferre that he had been involved in another confrontation. Half the time Combeferre himself wanted to take a swing at the man. But he said nothing about it to him, so he refrained from mentioning it.

There was never an air of defeat about him, though, so he could only assume that the blond had won whatever fights he had been involved in, which made Combeferre wonder what the other guy looked like.

"That bartender, she seems to care for that blond boy who runs around with your group." Enjolras commented suddenly, interrupting his thoughts once again.

"Who? Eponine and Marius?" Combeferre asked, surprised by the comment.

"Is that their names?" At his nod, Enjolras continued, "Then yes, those two."

"You could tell that easily?"

"Of course." The blond stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Anyone with eyes could see the way she fawns all over him. It's almost disgusting, actually."

"Don't talk about Eponine that way." Combeferre said sharply, anger reigniting in the pit of his stomach.

"What? It's true, and that Marius is an idiot for not seeing it." On this point, Combeferre couldn't help but to agree with him.

Enjolras opened his mouth to continue, but hesitated a moment. He scrutinized Combeferre for a long moment as if searching for something on his face. A split second later, his eyes lit up with realization. "You care about her." He accused, eyes dancing with amusement.

"Who? Eponine?" Combeferre sputtered in shock for a moment. Had he been that obvious? "We're just friends."

"Mhmm." Enjolras hummed in amusement.

Combeferre's face felt like it was on fire. "Do I make it that obvious as well?"

"No. It was just a lucky guess, I suppose." Enjolras stated, but his smirk said otherwise. "Although it's unlucky for you that she's so hung up over this Marius."

He sighed in defeat. "I know."

"Why don't you tell her how you feel?" The other man asked, for the first time seeming genuinely curious.

"How could I? You said it yourself. She has eyes only for Marius. It would only be selfish of me to force my feelings on her knowing she can't reciprocate." Combeferre admitted, and Enjolras nodded slightly in agreement.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think you're a better choice for her than that Marius." He said, making it impossible to miss the disdain in his voice when saying the name.

"You really dislike him that much? You don't even know him." Combeferre said, feeling slightly incredulous.

"And I don't plan to. That boy has nothing of value to say. The few times I've seen him, all he's talked about is some girl named Cosette and how perfect she is. With no regard for the feelings of your Eponine, no less. Someone like that isn't a person I'd like to associate with." Enjolras explained bluntly.

Combeferre would have liked to have said that Enjolras didn't care to associate with anybody, but he refrained from making the comment. "You've judged him prematurely. It's true that he talks about Cosette relentlessly, but he's a good man at heart. When you can get him to focus, he can truly be quite bright, and I know he doesn't mean to hurt Eponine."

"Why do you defend him?" Enjolras asked, once again curious.

At times, Combeferre wondered if curiosity was the only genuine emotion the man allowed himself to outwardly show. All other times, it was if the man was made of marble, but not when he was thirsty for knowledge. He only wished the blond didn't ask such difficult questions.

"Like I said, he's a decent man at heart. I hold no ill will towards him. I only wish he'd be a bit more attentive to those around him." He replied, shrugging.

Enjolras stared at him for a long moment; Combeferre was unable to read his expression with his marble mask back in place. "You're a good man, Combeferre." Was all he said, his eyes drifting slowly away to stare at the people walking by outside.

To this, Combeferre had no reply, and so they sat in companionable silence for a long time, until Enjolras abruptly stood and announced he had to leave. Lost in his own thoughts, Combeferre murmured a farewell, leaving as well not long after.


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

So the drama begins. Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed! The reviews really do inspire me to keep writing, so please continue to let me know what you all think!:)

* * *

Learning To Burn Chapter 4

"Jehan told me I might find you here."

Startled, Combeferre quickly glanced up to see Courfeyrac staring down at him, an amused grin on his face. Blearily rubbing his eyes, he shook his head slightly to dispel some of the exhaustion that had begun to settle over him.

"How long have you been here, anyway?" Courfeyrac continued, settling into a chair across from him.

"A while. What time is it?" Combeferre asked, looking around the library. He noticed that only a few people remained sitting at tables or lingering in the aisles, and none were people he recognized. The light streaming in from the windows beside him was beginning to turn grey as the sun slowly began to set.

"The library's about to close, 'Ferre." Courfeyrac explained, to his shock.

"I must have lost track of time or something." Combeferre said, beginning to move to collect his books and various things strewn across the table.

"That's for sure. Jehan found me once he got off shift – told me you'd been here for hours." Courfeyrac said, and the touch of worry in his voice made Combeferre pause to look up at him.

"Like I said, I must have lost track of time. Things have been crazy lately, with midterms coming up and all. You know know how it is, Courf." He said, trying to reassure his friend with a small smile.

"Yeah, I get it, I get it. But I have midterms too, and you don't see me acting like a hermit. Me and the guys – we've barely seen you lately." Courfeyrac said, crossing his arms and leaning them against the table.

Combeferre grimaced. He knew that pose, and it meant that Courfeyrac meant business. Although Combeferre knew what his friend said was merely the truth. Aside from trying to study for the midterms he had coming that week, many of his professors were also piling on multiple assignments, and between school and the hours he was putting in volunteering at the hospital, it had been difficult to find a spare moment.

The only people he'd really been seeing regularly lately were Jehan and Enjolras. Jehan because he was spending so many hours at the library studying and researching for his papers, and Enjolras due to the fact that they often met up for some much-needed coffee between Combeferre's study sessions and his shifts at the hospital. He saw Eponine just as much for the same reason, but she was busy with other customers most of the time and they hadn't had the chance to talk.

As for his other friends, he had been neglecting them, and he knew it. He had been invited to go out with them on multiple occasions lately, and he had declined each time. Whether it was due to volunteering, studying, or simply not feeling up to it, he had always found an excuse not to go, and now he felt the guilt hitting him full force.

"I know, Courfeyrac, and I'm sorry. Once these midterms are over, I'm sure I'll have more time." He promised, returning to gathering his things again rather than witnessing the doubtful look on his friend's face.

"Come out with us to the Musain tonight, 'Ferre. It's Friday." Courfeyrac asked suddenly. Before he could even open his mouth to decline, the man interrupted him, saying, "I know you don't have to volunteer tomorrow. I already asked Joly, and the rest of your assignments can wait one more night."

Combeferre stared at his friend for a long moment. "I don't know, Courf." He said, uncertain.

"Come on. You need a break, and it will be fun!" Courfeyrac said hopefully, trying to convince him, but he didn't answer, instead moving to put his things back into his book bag.

"Combeferre." Courfeyrac's voice was suddenly serious again. His hands stilled, but he couldn't meet his friend's eye. He was afraid of this.

There was an awkward silence for a long moment. Slowly, Combeferre finally looked up to meet his friend's gaze and found that Courfeyrac was staring at him stonily from across the table. "Everyone's worried about you."

"No, they're not. Marius is still obsessing over Cosette, and Feuilly's even busier than me, working every night. Bahorel wouldn't have said anything even if he had noticed. Jehan was most likely the one who sent you here because he didn't want to do it himself. Am I wrong?" Combeferre raised an eyebrow, daring Courfeyrac to contradict him.

His friend sighed. "You're not wrong. But don't blame Jehan entirely. It's not like I haven't noticed you've been acting strange lately. I am still worried about you." He opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, Courfeyrac interrupted him again.

"No, Combeferre. I know you. You're my oldest friend, and I know the signs. This is what you do when you're stressed but don't want to ask for help. You bury yourself in your books and you won't resurface until I come and forcefully drag you away." He grinned a little at this, and Combeferre chuckled a bit at the truth of the statement.

As far back into their friendship as he could remember, Courfeyrac had always been the only one who could drag him away from his books when he was stressed. Somehow the boy had always known exactly what to say or do to get him to come out of his shell.

"But there's more to it than just stress, I think. Now, won't you tell me what's on your mind?"

"Courfeyrac, really, there's nothing wrong. I'm fine. I've just been stressed, like you said, because of all the hours I've been logging at the hospital combined with these midterms. Everything will be back to normal once those are over." Combeferre tried to reassure him, but the look on Courfeyrac's face told him that he was still doubtful.

"Really, Courf, you worry like a mother hen sometimes." This successfully got a laugh out of his friend, breaking the tension of the moment.

"You know I'm not as bad as you once you've got it in your head something's wrong." Courfeyrac pointed out, and that statement wasn't one Combeferre could fight. He merely smiled back and successfully returned his things to his bag, knowing that the seriousness of the moment was over.

"So will you come out with us tonight, 'Ferre?" Combeferre sighed, but when he looked across the table at his friend's face, he couldn't find it in himself to refuse, to Courfeyrac's joy.

"You won't regret it, Combeferre. You can go back to studying tomorrow." Said the taller boy, and together they began walking out of the library and into the cool air of Paris at night.

"Somehow I doubt that." He said blandly, making Courfeyrac laugh. They walked along to Combeferre's apartment in companionable silence for a few minutes before Courfeyrac broke the peace of the moment.

"So you've been hanging around that Enjolras guy a lot lately since he came back to town, huh?" Courfeyrac commented, far too innocently for Combeferre's liking. His friend was fishing for something, but he couldn't put his finger on what.

"We get coffee sometimes, but that's about it. I'm sure Eponine told you that much already." He replied, looking over at his friend accusingly.

Courfeyrac gave a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. "You caught me. Was it that obvious?"

"I just know you far too well, Courf." They had reached his apartment by then, and he quickly dropped off his bag before heading out the door again. "What's your point?"

"Well, like I said, I've been worried about you, and you hanging around with this Enjolras is definitely a contributing factor." His said quietly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, you did meet the guy in a back alley while he was in the middle of a fight."

"Courfeyrac, I've told you already that I'm fine. Enjolras happens to be a regular at the Musain just like I am. Rather than sitting alone all the time, we just talk when we're both there at the same time. He definitely likes to keep to himself, but he's not dangerous. You're worrying over nothing." Combeferre explained, shaking his head at the silliness of his friend.

"Well, that's good to know. And I guess I should be glad that you haven't been a complete recluse lately." Courfeyrac let the subject drop, although Combeferre knew his friend too well not to know that he still held reservations.

Luckily, by this time they had reached the Musain and Combeferre was saved from trying to make more awkward conversation by the appearance of Bahorel. "It's about time you two got here. Everyone else is already here."

"Sorry 'bout that. It took a while to drag Combeferre away from his beloved books." Courfeyrac grinned.

Bahorel simply laughed and clasped a hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder. "Well, thanks for taking one for the team, then."

"Yeah, yeah, you two are hilarious, really." Combeferre said blandly, brushing by the two to take a seat next to Jehan as they laughed.

"Hello, Combeferre." Jehan greeted him nervously, not glancing up from where his eyes were studiously examining his long, slim fingers.

"Hey, Jehan." Glancing over at his friend, he merely smiled at the smaller man. "It's all right that you asked Courfeyrac to check up on me, you know."

Jehan jumped a little, looking up to meet his eye. "I was only worried about you..."

"I know, Jehan. It's fine." He gently squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, smiling when the other man's face brightened. Turning, he glanced around the room, feeling distinctly like something was missing. "Is Eponine working tonight?"

"No, it's her night off. She mentioned the other day she had planned to do something with her brother." Jehan replied, to which he nodded in acknowledgement, hoping his disappointment didn't show on his face.

Although he had only met Gavroche, Eponine's younger brother, a handful of times, it had been clear from the very beginning that she cared deeply about him. From what Combeferre remembered, the youth was lively, cheerful, and eager to please his sister.

However, he also knew that Eponine didn't often get the chance to spend much time with him. She tried her best, but it was difficult to find a good moment. When Gavroche wasn't in school, then Eponine was either at a night class at the local college or taking shifts here at the Musain. Therefore, on her nights off she would always try to spend them with him.

"And Feuilly?" To this, Jehan shook his head as well. Combeferre sighed, disappointed that he was missing their friend yet again, but he knew it was necessary.

Feuilly, too, didn't often have a spare moment. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had met him in their first year of University. He had been orphaned at a very young age but had somehow managed to survive the streets of Paris. Although he was the same age as them, he had decided not to go to University and instead entered the world of work in order to support himself.

Despite this, Feuilly's attitude was never pessimistic. The man was always ready and eager to work, and Courfeyrac had hit it off with him spectacularly. It hadn't been hard for Combeferre to warm up to him either considering the fact that the larger man was never without a smile on his face and a kind word on his tongue.

At that moment, Courfeyrac and Bahorel reappeared with a fresh round of drinks and Marius in tow. Jehan, as usual, refused it, but Combeferre gratefully accepted one. The three joined them at their table and immediately began re-enacting one of Courfeyrac's more spontaneous adventures.

* * *

Another loud chorus of laughter rang out behind him as he got up and made his way to the bar – he had been the unlucky one volunteered to buy the next round of drinks.

He greeted a few of the people he recognized along the way but successfully managed to escape being pulled into anything along the way. Reaching the bar, he breathed a sigh of relief that he had made it without someone spilling something on him – which was not an uncommon occurrence, to say the least.

He hailed one of the bartenders, who quickly made their way down the bar, looking quite disgruntled. It was an employee he didn't recognize, but he promptly gave his friends' orders, almost shouting over the noise inside the café.

The bartender hurried off to complete his request, and Combeferre turned his gaze to look around the crowded room while he waited. Most of the patrons were people he recognized as friends of Courfeyrac's or students he'd seen around campus. Thanks to Courfeyrac's influence, in the last three years, the Musain had turned into quite the popular spot on Friday nights, to both the delight and dismay of many of its employees.

Although he couldn't hear much over the din, the movement of the door swinging open caught Combeferre's eye, and he watched as Enjolras stepped inside, looking quite hassled, the collar of his red coat turned up against the chill. He watched him bend his collar back down and, taking a few steps into the crowd, seemed to turn and spot Combeferre from across the room.

Knowing that there was no way for Enjolras to hear him from across the room, he raised a hand in greeting, which was not returned. Nonetheless, the blond quickly made his way over to the bar.

"It's busy in here." Was Enjolras' greeting, casting a disdainful look at the large number of drunk University students milling around them.

"Yeah, Courfeyrac must have gone a little overboard inviting people this week. Either that or they all know they're going to fail their midterm exams next week anyway and decided to celebrate early." Combeferre answered dryly. Enjolras nodded, looking as if he was suddenly regretting coming to the cafe.

"So what brings you out tonight, anyway?" Enjolras stopped scanning the crowd and turned to answer.

"I-"

"Combeferre! What's taking so long?" Courfeyrac's voice suddenly sounded out from behind him. Startled, he turned to see that his friend had appeared behind him with Bahorel in tow.

"Courfeyrac, I was just talking to Enjolras for a moment. I'm sure you remember him." The look on Courfeyrac's face told him that he was right, but that he wasn't happy about it. Suddenly, the bartender returned with the drinks, placing them carefully on the counter beside them.

"Bahorel, this is Enjolras. Enjolras, Bahorel." He said, introducing the two who hadn't met.

"Nice to meet you," Bahorel replied, to which Enjolras nodded slightly. Not one to be put off, the larger man simply shrugged. He left Courfeyrac and Combeferre's drinks on the counter but gathered up the others and quickly returned to the table to keep Jehan and Marius company.

"Enjolras. How _nice_ to see you again." Courfeyrac's words were polite, but his tone told a different story. Combeferre stared at his friend, who was usually so cheerful and open to anyone he met, wondering what had made him act in such a way.

"Indeed. So nice to see you sober, especially considering your reputation." Enjolras replied flippantly, looking out at the crowd in boredom.

"Excuse me?" Replied Courfeyrac, eyebrows raised in surprise. Even Combeferre, who was used to Enjolras' antisocial attitude, turned in surprise at the man's comment.

"You're the one who throws these silly parties every week, aren't you? Then you try to out-drink your friend at the bar despite the fact that you lose every time. If it weren't for you, maybe some of us could enjoy some peace and quiet once in a while." Said the blond.

"Who do you think you are, acting like you own the place?" Courfeyrac retorted angrily.

"Who, me? I'm just a concerned patron worrying about the type of rabble that have been hanging around the place lately." Enjolras replied, his eyes dancing.

He was enjoying this.

"Well then, you don't have anything to worry about from me. The only rabble hanging around here lately have been the _rats_, fighting over crumbs in the back alley." Courfeyrac said scathingly, making Combeferre turn in shock.

"Courfeyrac!" Combeferre exclaimed in shock. The man opened his mouth as if to make another heated comment, but Combeferre placed a hand on his friend's shoulder to hold back his next retort. "What is wrong with you?"

"Me?" Courfeyrac echoed, the anger quickly draining away in confusion.

Enjolras had the audacity to look smug, which made Combeferre turn on him next. "Enjolras. I think it's time for you to be leaving." He said calmly, his tone leaving no room for argument despite the fact that he didn't turn away from Courfeyrac.

Intelligent enough to realize that it wouldn't be wise to cross Combeferre just then, the blond turned without a word and quickly disappeared into the crowd. He didn't bother to watch him go, instead hissing at Courfeyrac, "What is your problem?"

"My problem? What's _his_ problem?" His friend sputtered, still furious.

"You're unbelievable." Combeferre merely shook his head, sighing in disappointment as his hand dropped from the brunette's shoulder.

He started to move past him, to return to their table, but Courfeyrac grabbed his arm. "Don't act all high and mighty. This isn't done, Combeferre."

"Oh really? What, exactly, isn't done? You making a fool of yourself?" Glancing down at the hand on his arm, he raised his eyes to meet Courfeyrac's gaze, anger flaring to life in his own chest. "Let go of me, now. We _are_ done here." His voice was icy.

Courfeyrac immediately relinquished his grip, a flicker of an apology shining in his eyes, but he didn't move from Combeferre's path. "No, we're not. You need to tell me what the hell is going on with you."

"What are you talking about? Don't make this about me - I'm not the one who just insulted a total stranger for no reason!"

"That's my point! That Enjolras guy is a total stranger. You meet him when he's having a fight in the back alley and then he disappears for a month! People talk, Combeferre, and all they have to say about that guy is that he's bad news." Courfeyrac said sharply.

Shaking his head in denial, Combeferre replied, "Since when were you one to put stock in rumour, Courfeyrac? You don't even know him. He's not dangerous."

"Really? Do you even know him? What do you even know about him, Combeferre?" Courfeyrac accused.

His mouth opened to answer, but to his horror, he couldn't find the words. Enjolras was so secretive, but it had never even occurred to him to think he was a bad person. Something told him that he wasn't. _But what did he truly know about the man? _

There was nothing he could say to defend himself to Courfeyrac, but the silence spoke for itself.

"See what I mean? We've barely seen you these past few months, and when we do, you hardly say a word. You've practically locked yourself in your apartment lately, and I can't help but wonder what this Enjolras guy has to do with it. Is he threatening you?" Courfeyrac's voice suddenly softened.

"No, of course he's not threatening me!"

"Then what is it? Come on, Combeferre, talk to me!" Courfeyrac said desperately. "You know you can tell me anything. Anything at all – just tell me what's wrong. You're my oldest friend; don't shut me out. You know I'd do anything to help you."

"Have you ever thought that I didn't need your help, Courfeyrac?"

"Merde, Combeferre, of course you need my help! If not me, then who? You have no one else!"

Combeferre recoiled like he had been slapped. He stared at his friend in complete and utter shock, pain blossoming in his chest that he knew wasn't due to medical reasons.

The silence loomed between them, and it felt as if the entire Musain had quieted and turned to watch how their argument would turn out. He hadn't seen them move, but Jehan, Marius and Bahorel were now standing a few feet away from the pair, staring at Courfeyrac in shock.

He couldn't spot Enjolras' red coat in the crowd, but in the silence buzzing through his head, he vaguely wondered if the man had stayed to watch the show.

Frozen to the spot, Combeferre could only watch as the fire slowly drained from Courfeyrac's face, only to be replaced by horror as he realized what he had just said.

"Oh, mon Dieu, 'Ferre, I ..." Courfeyrac began pleadingly, taking a step towards him. Combeferre flinched again at the movement, shaking his head in denial.

He couldn't bear to be there a moment longer and fled the café without a word.


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

For this chapter, we get to see Courfeyrac's side of things, and a bit of Combeferre's past is revealed. Once again, thank you to those of you who reviewed! Please continue to do so and I will do my best to write quickly!

* * *

Learning To Burn Chapter 5

_Courfeyrac's Point Of View_

Something was seriously wrong with his friend, and he was going to find out what.

"Come on, Combeferre, talk to me!" Courfeyrac begged. "You know you can tell me anything. Anything at all – just tell me what's wrong. You're my oldest friend; don't shut me out. You know I'd do anything to help you."

Combeferre's gaze was stony. "Have you ever thought that I didn't need your help, Courfeyrac?"

If he wasn't so angry, Courfeyrac could have laughed. He could still remember the shy little boy sitting at the back of the class in fifth grade with his nose stuck in a book.

When Combeferre was still too small and quiet to stand up to the bigger kids, it was Courfeyrac who took the detention after they managed to pull him off the other boys. When Combeferre was too shy to ask his first crush to the school dance, it was Courfeyrac who 'accidentally' pushed them together in the hallway.

When Comebeferre's parents hadn't spoken to him in weeks, it had been Courfeyrac who snuck away from his own overprotective parents just so he could fill the halls of Combeferre's empty house with sounds of life.

He had done all these things and more freely for Combeferre without expecting anything in return. He still didn't. This was his oldest and most trusted friend – all he wanted to know was how he could make things better like he had every other time.

But somehow his anger and frustration at his friend's stubbornness combined with alcohol turned his good intentions into something else entirely, and the words that came out of his mouth were instead: "Merde, Combeferre, of course you need my help! If not me, then who? You have no one else!"

It took a moment for his brain to register what his mouth had just said. Regret bloomed instantly in his chest as Combeferre flinched back. He easily recognized the pain in his friend's eyes – he had simply never been the reason it was put there before.

There was a long silence before Courfeyrac could get his mouth to work again. "Oh, mon Dieu, 'Ferre, I ..." He began, taking a desperate step towards his friend, but he immediately realized that nothing he could say could reach the medical student right now.

Instead, he only watched as Combeferre began shaking his head, no longer able to meet his eyes. Pain at the thought of how he had hurt his friend gripped his chest and blurred his thoughts, but he still knew a split second before Combeferre did it that he would bolt.

He hadn't seen him do it in a while, but when they were younger, that had always been Combeferre's initial instinct. If it concerned his friends, there was never any hesitation about jumping into the fight. But when things got too personal, and it came down to fight or flight, Combeferre had always, always chosen to retreat, to hide away with his books where it was safe.

This time Courfeyrac let him go.

Jehan slipped out after the medical student, hoping to catch up with him, but Courfeyrac knew it was a fruitless exercise. If he knew his friend at all, he would want to be alone for a while.

As for himself, well, if the weight of the guilt in his stomach lessened enough for him to move from his spot, he might go get another drink.

The buzzing in his ears slowly faded away. The chattering of people throughout the Musain began again as they realized the argument had passed.

He felt Bahorel appear at his shoulder, his face stoic. Vaguely, he wondered how much of the argument the larger man had heard, but then he supposed that the entire room had probably heard the whole thing.

His friend gently gripped his shoulders and guided him back to their table, and Courfeyrac allowed him to do so without resistance. Flopping bonelessly into the closest chair, he immediately covered his face with his long fingers in shame.

"I'm such an idiot." He groaned pathetically, guilt twisting his stomach.

"Yeah, you are." Marius agreed, settling down into the chair next to him. Bahorel remained standing a few feet away, arms crossed.

Courfeyrac let out another strangled sound, which seemed to make Marius take pity on him. The man let out a deep sigh. "That doesn't mean you didn't have good intentions."

"It doesn't matter if I had good intentions or not. How could I have said something like that?" He moaned, tugging at the strands of hair that fell down his forehead.

"Because you're worried about him, just like the rest of us are." Lifting his head in surprise, he managed to shoot Marius a questioning look. "What?" Marius shrugged. "I may not have known Combeferre as long as you have, and I might not be the most observant person, but I don't have to be that intelligent to know that something was bothering him."

"Exactly! So why can't he just tell me what's wrong?" Courfeyrac cried, hanging his head back into his hands hopelessly.

"Maybe he doesn't want you to know." Bahorel suddenly jumped in.

"How horrible would it have to be for him to not want to tell me?" He asked, confused.

Bahorel sighed, disappointment seeming to radiate from him. "You're missing the point, Courf. It might just be something Combeferre wants to deal with on his own. You can't fix everything, and trying to is what got you into this mess in the first place."

"Merde." He mumbled, wishing that Bahorel's arguments didn't sound so logical.

They sat quietly for a moment before Jehan suddenly reappeared, looking more than a bit lost. "Anything?" Asked Courfeyrac, even though he already knew the answer. Jehan's shake of the head merely confirmed his fears.

"He wouldn't respond to me. I felt it best to just let him be for now." He explained, to which Courfeyrac nodded sadly, face still hidden in his hands.

"Thanks for trying, anyway, Jehan." This earned him a weak smile from the smaller man.

"Don't beat yourself up too much, Courfeyrac. I'm sure he'll forgive you." Jehan tried to reassure him.

"Eventually." Marius chimed in.

Deep down, Courfeyrac knew the pair of them were right. Although he'd never done anything this stupid before, Combeferre had always forgiven him his transgressions. That was simply how the medical student was – kind, caring, never holding a grudge for long.

Whether or not he'd ever forgive himself was another story.

All of a sudden he felt strong hands grip his shirt. His hands fell away from his face as they pulled him forcefully to his feet, and he found himself staring into Bahorel's distinctly angry expression.

"Listen here, Courfeyrac. Yeah, you said something terrible tonight, but you can't do anything about it now. You're going to go see Combeferre first thing tomorrow morning, so until then, you'd better start thinking about how you're going to apologize rather than sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. Got that?" He growled, eyes narrowed in irritation, but his words seemed to break the shroud of melancholy that surrounded his friend.

Courfeyrac sighed, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. Bahorel slowly relinquished the hold on his shirt, and his shoulders slumped back down in dejection. But this time, he met the other man's eyes. "Yeah, you're right, Bahorel." He admitted.

Quickly glancing around the room, he noticed that the crowd had thinned out, leaving only a few people left in the building. "Looks like the party's over." He acknowledged as a way to change the subject.

The others agreed and, paying their tabs, they quickly dispersed. Courfeyrac returned to his flat, guilt still eating away at him but determined to do whatever he had to in order to make things right.

* * *

Unfortunately, the next morning, Courfeyrac was met with the same amount of success as Jehan.

After spending hours lying staring at the ceiling of his dorm room, thinking of apologies, he finally managed to fall asleep. But he was awakened just as early with guilt still festering in the pit of his stomache and a headache on top of it.

Not wasting a second, he immediately dressed and headed for Combeferre's apartment, knowing he would already been awake. The medical student had always been an early riser.

To his dismay but not his surprise, he received no answer from knocking on the door of the flat.

"Come on, Combeferre, open up! I know you're in there!" He yelled through the door, banging more forcefully.

He knew he couldn't have gone out anywhere because he wasn't scheduled to volunteer that day, which was one of the reasons Courfeyrac had managed to get him to agree to come out the night before. He also knew his friend very well, and he knew that when Combeferre was upset, he would lock himself away for awhile, usually buried in a book.

He resumed banging on the door despite knowing it was a futile effort.

After a while, he pressed his ear to the door, but he could hear no signs of movement, only silence. He knocked a bit more gently. "Please, 'Ferre, I just want to talk. Please let me in?"

Silence.

Sighing, he let his hand fall to his side. Taking a step back to lean against the opposite wall, he let his body slowly slide down to the floor in dejection.

Never before had he been put in this position – of one who had hurt Combeferre.

Sure, they had had the typical petty arguments over nothing like any other pair of friends, and they had had long, heated debates over politics more than once, but never before had they had a fight like this. Anything they disagreed over was usually resolved within one conversation, or settled with an agreement to disagree with no lingering resentment.

That was simply the way things had always been. Combeferre was always the reasonable one, the one who always knew what to do. He was the person Courfeyrac had always sought out when he'd needed guidance. Combeferre had always tried to solve things with reason and good advice, subtly encouraging others to follow the right path.

God only knew how many times his friend had steered him in the right direction after he'd screwed things up.

Unlike Combeferre, Courfeyrac had never been particularly wise or mature. He knew right from wrong, that was for sure, but he never thought things through the way his friend did. He had always simply reacted to things without thinking and therefore he was left with the consequences afterwards. But on the other hand, this meant that he had gotten very good at picking up the pieces after things had fallen apart.

When things with Combeferre's parents were really bad, or when he had been hurt by someone at school, or when some idiot had refused the man's sound advice, then Courfeyrac would take over to help him keep things together.

In the past, he had always been the one weathering the storms alongside his friend, not the one trapped on the other side of a door.

Even when Combeferre had been most upset, Courfeyrac had always been able to convince him to come out, to open the door. He had always been the one to comfort him, to be the voice of reason, or if he couldn't, then it was Courfeyrac who had gone out to threaten the other party until they had smoothed things over with his friend.

Never before had he hurt him this badly.

Maybe, Courfeyrac wondered, maybe it wouldn't have been as bad if he had said something else. Something, anything else.

_You have no one else._

He winced again at the memory and the bitter taste it left in the back of his mouth. He couldn't have chosen worse words if he had tried. He knew Combeferre was able to ignore his old insecurities most of the time, but if there had ever been any words that would have ripped old wounds wide open, Courfeyrac's would have been the ones to do it.

When Courfeyrac had met him, way back when they were children, Combeferre had been an entirely different person. He had been a quiet child, speaking only when spoken to. He sat in the back of the class and never raised his hand, but Courfeyrac had noticed him from his very first day.

All the other students had excitedly crowded around him at recess, wanting to know all about the new kid, but not Combeferre. The boy had instead stayed in the classroom, nose buried in a book.

His curiousity had been piqued. It was unfathomable to Courfeyrac, who had been just as loud, cheerful, and boisterous as a child, that anyone would willingly stay inside at recess. After a few days of the same thing, he had asked his classmates about the shy boy sitting at the back of the class, but they couldn't provide him with much information. They said they had never excluded him and that it had been the boy himself who had rejected their advances.

The next day Courfeyrac went to sit beside the boy instead of going outside for recess. "Hi, I'm Courfeyrac. What's your name?" He had said, sticking out his hand with a wide grin.

The boy had set his book down, gently took the offered hand, and introduced himself as Combeferre. Then he promptly returned to reading his book. Not one to be deterred, Courfeyrac had pestered the boy with questions, eventually realizing what the other kids had been talking about when they said he had been unwilling to interact with them.

So, when his friendly advances were continuously rejected, he tried a different tactic. His parents had been surprised by his unusual request for a book to read that wasn't a school book, but they didn't object to this sudden interest in reading. The next day, instead of bothering Combeferre with questions, he simply sat beside him at recess and read his own book.

He saw Combeferre glance at him in surprise, but merely smiled to himself, knowing that his plan had worked. They said nothing to each other that day, but eventually, as the routine continued, Courfeyrac managed to get the boy to talk. At first it had only been about the books they were reading, but, slowly, the boy began to open up.

Once Combeferre warmed to his loud personality, the pair became fast friends. Combeferre still liked to stay in at recess to read his book, but under Courfeyrac's influence, those days became few and far between. He even managed to introduce him to some of the other boys in their grade and they all got along wonderfully. They were young, and no lingering resentment remained between the children, which meant that they easily accepted the shy boy into their fold once he showed an interest in being included.

It wasn't until they were older that Courfeyrac learned the reason why he had been so quiet.

It also wasn't until they were older that Courfeyrac learned the reason why he was never invited over to Combeferre's house, why Combeferre's parents never picked him up or came to any school recitals or functions.

Even as a child, these things had struck him as odd. He had always known there was something more to Combeferre than he was letting on, but he never broached the subject. As long as his friend was happy enough at school, that was enough for him.

At least until they were almost in high school, and Courfeyrac managed to convince his friend to invite him over to his house. He had walked home with him one day after school, and had stopped in shock when they arrived.

He had known Combeferre wasn't poor, but the sheer size of the boy's house in the countryside said more than any of the clothes he wore. Courfeyrac's own family wasn't lacking in any way either, but never before had he seen such a large, fancy house or expensive furniture.

Slowly, as more of Combeferre's life was revealed, he began to understand the other boy in a way he had never tried to before.

Both of Combeferre's parents were doctors, and despite the luxurious decore, they were almost never home. The furniture was grand, but impersonal. There were no personal effects were lying around, no family portraits or memorabilia left out. Even Combeferre's own room had been neat, organized, perfect. To Courfeyrac, whose own home was a wirlwind of people and things, the experience was strange.

It took some convincing, but he managed to get Combeferre to confide in him.

As an enfant, most of the time Combeferre had been left to the maids and nannies to be taken care of. They were kind enough, but never showed him the kind of warmth that parents would, and should, have.

They were no replacement, and as Combeferre grew, even they stopped showing him attention. Believing him old enough to be left alone, his parents had stopped employing the extra staff to take care of him, and the rest of their household staff had their own duties to attend to.

When his parents were home, Courfeyrac had learned, they still didn't have much time for the boy. After long hours at work, his parents would be exhausted and expected him to be as quiet as possible, to speak only when spoken to. Studying and achieving good grades would get him pats on the head and vague words of praise, but generally his parents left him alone.

It wasn't that his parents didn't love him. Quite the opposite, in fact. If he ever wanted for anything – toys, books, clothes – he would be granted it without question. When it came to their son, nothing was too expensive.

But when it came to things like time, affection, and attention – the things their son truly needed – they could never give it to him. Eventually, Combeferre stopped expecting these things, and concentrated on simply being an intelligent, dutiful son.

So the boy had been left alone, with only books for company.

Until Courfeyrac had come along and broken down the wall he put up between himself and everyone else. From that moment on, Combeferre was no longer alone – he had seen to that.

From that moment on, he was determined not to leave Combeferre alone in that huge house for longer than necessary. Every chance he could, he invited his friend to come by his house. They would do homework together and pass the time in a thousand different ways.

When his parents were sick of the pair hanging around all the time or Courfeyrac's younger siblings were driving him to insanity, only then would they spend time in Combeferre's large, lonely mansion.

When this happened, he always did his best to think up crazy games and adventures to pass the time. They would explore the large field behind the house, or explore the many empty rooms in the house. Whatever they did, Courfeyrac tried to be as loud as possible, tried to fill the house with life as best he could.

Even on Combeferre's bad days, Courfeyrac refused to leave him alone in that silent, empty house. When his friend couldn't stand to be around other people, Courfeyrac was an exception. He would sit quietly inside the house's library while his friend read books to escape the thoughts in his head. He would read books upside down and make faces at the boy from across the table, trying anything to cheer him up.

And when they were teenagers, on the particularly bad days when Combeferre couldn't bare to see even him, couldn't find the strength to even leave his room, even then Courfeyrac would somehow find a way to be near the boy. He would sit on the floor beside his bed, staying absolutely quiet as Combeferre huddled under the covers, just so that his friend knew he wasn't alone, and he would stay there for as long as it took for his friend's mussed head to appear from under his little cocoon of safety.

It had been a long, hard road, but over the years those days had become few and far between.

Until last night, when Courfeyrac was sure he had ripped all those old wounds and remembrances of loneliness wide open.

And now he was trapped outside Combeferre's door with no way to reach him.

Banging his head lightly against the wall behind him, he groaned in exasperation before dragging himself to his feet.

Deciding to head over to the Musain to get a much-needed coffee before returning, he knocked lightly on the door once before leaving. Once again receiving no answer, he left in defeat.

To his dismay, Eponine was working the morning shift that day, and she did not look happy to see him. Slumping his shoulders, he shuffled slowly over to the counter to get a coffee and accept his fate.

"Courfeyrac." She greeted him none too pleasantly, eyebrows raised in expectancy.

Raising his hands in the universal symbol of surrender, Courfeyrac took one of the seats by the bar. "Listen, Eponine, I know I messed up. Trust me when I tell you that there's nothing you can say that I haven't already told myself."

Lips pursed, she stared at him in silence for long enough that he began to fidget nervously under the force of her glare. Then, seeming to take pity on him, her stony gaze cracked a little and she sighed, grabbing a cup off the counter.

"Thank you, Eponine." He said, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands.

"One sugar or two?" She asked.

"Two, please." He replied without looking up. He heard her put the cup down in front of him and he immediately grabbed it, desperate for the life-saving liquid.

Taking a large gulp, his eyes widened in surprise and he coughed and spluttered at the bitter taste. Once his breathing returned to normal, he glanced down into the cup.

Black.

He looked suspiciously up at Eponine, but she merely smiled innocently at him, handing him the sugar cup and a spoon.

"I suppose I deserved that." He admitted, taking the offered items gratefully. He handed them back once he was satisfied and took another gulp of coffee, immediately re-energized at the much less bitter taste.

"No kidding." Eponine said from across the counter, and Courfeyrac realized that he should have known he wouldn't have been able to get away without a scolding.

"Eponine, I am such an idiot." He said to appease her.

"That's for sure. When I came in this morning, I wasn't surprised to hear that there was an argument last night. What I was surprised about was that it was between you and Combeferre. What on earth did you do, Courfeyrac?" She demanded.

"I got in a fight with that Enjolras guy Combeferre's been hanging around with. Speaking of which, has he come in here today?" Coufeyrac asked, glancing around the cafe to see if he could spot any sign of the man's red coat.

"Not yet. He usually comes later in the day, and if he was the cause of all this, then you'd better be out of here before he shows up. I won't be having another incident in here. What do you have against the guy anyway?" Eponine asked.

"I don't know, he just rubs me the wrong way, I guess. The night we met him, he was in a fight with some guys just outside this place, and he wasn't very thankful when we broke it up for him. Combeferre's been acting weird for a while now, so I know it can't totally be due to this guy, but he certainly isn't a good influence. Not to mention he wasn't too friendly when we met again last night." Courfeyrac explained.

"Come on, Courfeyrac, you should know better than to judge someone that quickly. How well do you even know him? I know he doesn't like to talk about himself much, and yeah, he can get downright mean if you pry too much, but he's always been polite enough to me when I serve him."

Courfeyrac winced, knowing Eponine was completely right. Last night, when it was dark and he'd had a few drinks, it had seemed like a plausible enough reason, but in the light of day even he could admit that his reasons for disliking the guy were slim.

"I know, Eponine. You're right, as usual. I guess I was just so frustrated at Combeferre that I took it out on Enjolras, and that led to everything blowing up in my face." He admitted shamefully.

Eponine gave him a sympathetic glance, but urged him to explain the rest of the story. "I've only heard second-hand accounts, and I'd rather hear it from you, Courf."

He gave her a small smile, but continued. "Well, 'Ferre got mad at me for insulting the guy, and I let my anger let the best of me. I told him to tell me what his problem was, but he said there was nothing wrong. We argued back and forth a bit, but he refused to tell me anything. So I ... uh, I told him that he needed my help, because he had no one else." He said, rushing through the last part of his explanation. The words tasted just as bitter on his tongue as the black coffee.

He shrunk in on himself, expecting Eponine to start yelling at him. But when no rebuke came, he looked up to see her staring at him in sadness and disappointment.

Somehow that hurt worse than if she had insulted him.

"I know." He sighed. "I already told you, I was a total idiot, and I feel horrible."

"I know you do, which is why I've decided to let you be your own worst enemy here. But what I don't understand is what has made you so frustrated with Combeferre that you'd let it get to this point? I've never heard of you two fighting before." Eponine asked.

"I don't know. It's just that Combeferre has been so distant lately. I guess you could say this has been a long time coming. I've been worried about him since even before Enjolras showed up." Courfeyrac paused, wondering how best to explain it.

"We haven't kept secrets from each other for a long time, but lately I've felt like there's something Combeferre's been keeping from me and everyone else. He's been acting strange for months.

He used to come out with me and the guys every week, and during the week we would often meet up at the library. We had some of the same classes in first year, so we used to study together. He also used to hang out Jehan all the time.

Jehan would write poetry while Combeferre read Rousseau or something, and then Jehan would read it to him. I used to join them, but I was never really interested, and eventually just left them to it.

Now, you know Combeferre, so you know he isn't the most social person out there, but he always managed to make friends in most of his classes. He would occasionally spend time with those friends, too, but lately...

Lately he basically never leaves his apartment. As far as I know, he hasn't spent time with anyone. Jehan came to me recently, concerned because they've barely talked, let alone read any poetry together. If he's gone out with Joly or his University friends, I wouldn't know it, but somehow I doubt it.

He's even refused to come out with me. He always finds some convenient excuse – volunteering, or homework, or something. At first I didn't think anything of it, but he's been doing it far too frequently for me to ignore any more. As far as I know, the only places he goes are the University, the hospital, the library, and here." Courfeyrac paused.

"I think I know what you mean. He comes here every day like usual, but I definitely don't see him out with you guys on Fridays as much as I used to." Eponine admitted, and he nodded.

"Exactly. And the few times I've managed to get him to come out with us, he's been quiet and withdrawn. He'll join in our conversations, but rarely does he talk about himself any more. And it's been like this for too long for me to ignore." Courfeyrac finished, not mentioning the rest of what he was thinking.

Because what he was truly worried about was that Combeferre was reverting back to that withdrawn boy he had known as a child, that his bad days were outnumbering his good ones again, and that scared him more than anything.

Eponine nodded, accepting his explanation. "Well, I can see where you're coming from, Courfeyrac. It doesn't excuse what you said to him, but I can understand why you said it."

"Thank you, Eponine." He said gratefully.

"Hold on a moment. Like I said, there's no excuse for what you said. Really, it should be Combeferre you're telling all this to, not me. But at the moment it looks like he's refusing to talk to you."

"How did you -" He started, but stopped when she shot him a knowing look. Swallowing the rest of his sentence, he smiled a bit to himself. Of course, she had seen right through him the moment he had set foot in the café.

"Now, we both know Combeferre, and I think we both know he's not going to want to see you today." Courfeyrac started to protest, but again she stopped him with a look. "You know I'm right, Courfeyrac. I know you feel terrible and you want to apologize right away, but he's not going to want to hear it, so my advice is to just leave him be for now. You two have been friends for far longer than I've known you, and I don't think that friendship is so easily broken by something like this. Combeferre will come to you eventually. If I happen to be wrong, then you can try again later, but for right now you're not going to accomplish anything by sitting outside his apartment all day."

He took a moment to consider what she had said, but he couldn't deny the truth in her words. "I suppose you're right, Eponine. Thanks for listening, and setting me straight."

"You're welcome, Courfeyrac. Now get out of here before Enjolras comes by, or I'll be forced to kick you out." She told him, making a shooing motion with her hands.

Once again holding his hands up in a peaceful gesture, he relented and slowly wandered back out onto the streets of Paris, feeling more than a little lost.


End file.
